Coping
by loony luna91
Summary: Three years after Voldemort’s defeat, Hermione finally realizes that it’s time to move on with her life, even though it means going back to her pain stricken past. Knowing she can’t do it alone, she calls on Harry for support. HarryxGinny, no HGxHP!


Hermione trembled as she slowly pulled the dusty book from its hiding place. Its tattered pages were yellow with age and fragile as glass. As Hermione carefully placed the brittle book on her lap, her once barely controlled tears began to escape from her eyes and roll down her cheek. The salty tears slithered down the contours of her hollow face before falling off the edge of her chin, staining the yellowed paper when they landed.

The old scrapbook in Hermione's lap seemed to grow heavier and heavier with each passing second. It was as though the memories held in the book's worn pages were becoming too much for its spine to bear.

Hermione's sobs started to become more erratic and uncontrollable as the book continued to weigh down on her crossed legs, begging to be opened and relived. The book seemed to stare at Hermione and burrow into her heart, ripping her soul to shreds with its painful reminders.

As the wounds of her heart slowly began to reopen, Hermione wanted nothing more than to throw the book into a corner and run away from this mess that was her life. But however appealing that notion may be, Hermione knew that she needed to face this. She needed to face this once and for all.

But not alone. No, not alone. 

Hermione sighed, _Not without him. I can't do this until he comes._

Harry sat in his usual spot. The same table, the same chair, evens the same mug.

Harry laughed at himself for how easily it had come to be routine. Every morning of every day he would come to this cafe and just sit. He found that once he sat down in that familiar chair the world seemed to stop. The chaos, the hustle, the stress; everything seemed to stop, if only for an hour.

Harry sighed and glanced at the lone newspaper that was lying on the table, no doubt having been left by the table's previous occupant. Hesitantly, Harry reached across the table and lifted it up so he could see its print.

The first thing that Harry noticed was the date, printed in big bold letters on the top of the page. He didn't need the newspaper's large black heading to know what today was.

Today was the third anniversary of the Voldemort's death. It was three years ago on this day that Harry had finally ended his life-long destiny.

Harry cringed and threw the paper back across the table where it fell of the edge and made a thud when it hit the floor.

No matter how much time had gone by, his memories and nightmares of that night never seemed to abandon him. Every now and then something would trigger those awful flashbacks. The shrieking whistle of a train would bring back the appalling screams of those wounded or dying. The flash from a camera would induce the sight of hundreds of spells being cast in every which direction, each searching for its particular prey. 

Harry cringed again as he fought back the disturbing memories that were trying to force their way to the front of his mind. Searching for a distraction, Harry watched the door to the café intently and examined each stranger that walked through it.

As he watched the many people go in and out the milky glass door, there was one individual that caught Harry's attention. Her wavy, untamed hair cascaded behind her, and her chocolate eyes looked beaten and tiresome, as though they had seen too many years. It took Harry seconds to recognize this worn face.

"Hermione?" The woman stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of Harry's voice. She slowly turned her head until she was facing him. Tears suddenly sprung to her eyes and she sprinted over to where Harry was sitting, throwing her arms around him and crying into his shoulder. Harry immediately embraced his long, lost friend and fought back tears of his own. It had been so long.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered between sobs. Harry, puzzled by Hermione's statement, lifted her head so that he could see her blotched, red face.

"Sorry for what, Hermione? You have done nothing to hurt me."

"I'm sorry for losing you like I did. You were my best friend and after, well, afterwards I just couldn't stand to face anyone, let alone my best friend," Hermione managed to say in a soft, broken voice.

Harry knew exactly what she meant without question. Hermione had been engaged to Ronald Weasley for nine months before the final battle had erupted three years ago on this day. Ronald, having been on the front line, perished during the eleven hour struggle of blood and sweat. Hermione had been so stricken by Ron's death that she ran away from everything that could remind her of her broken heart and love lost. Harry had never blamed Hermione for her flight. _She needed the time._

Not knowing what else to do, Harry gave Hermione a reassuring smile. "I understand why you left. I think you needed to just get away for while, heal your wounds. I'm just glad you're back." 

Hermione smiled, looking somewhat relieved.

"Why don't we get some coffee and you can tell me what you've been up to for the past three years," Harry said as he flagged down the waitress.

"I'd like that," Hermione said, almost to herself.

Strolling through the crowded streets of London to her flat, Hermione clutched her coat tightly to her chest against the biting wind. She had just finished having coffee with Harry and was returning to her home. Her new home, that is.

Hermione sighed as she recalled walking into the café that morning. She had never expected to see her old friend there. Granted, she had been planning on finding him anyway, but seeing him so suddenly had caught her off guard. 

Ever since Ron had passed away, a chunk of her heart had passed with him. After she had heard news of Ron's death that fateful night, Hermione, overwhelmed by the chaos and loss, fled to Ireland. She lived in Dublin for three years, mending her heart's wounds. She hated admitting to herself that what she was doing was cowardly, running away from her quandaries instead of rising above them.

Finally, after three years, Hermione had gathered the strength to go back, to start over. She knew that the first step would be to come to peace with her past. This was what had driven her to Ireland. She just couldn't seem to face her friends in her time of weakness, something that had never been a problem before.

Now that Hermione had finally come to terms with her pain and was ready to begin the more painful process of healing, she found that she needed help now more than ever. That was why she had planned on finding Harry in the first place; she knew that she couldn't do this alone.

Hermione tried to push her thoughts aside as she walked up the steps to the apartment she now shared. As she reached her door on the third floor, she quickly retrieved her key from its place in her purse and unlocked the door, listening to the dull groaning as it swung open. Inside, she could hear the hustled footsteps of her new roommate.

"Ginny, didn't you say that work started at ten?" Hermione called. "It's almost eleven now."

The red-headed girl stumbled into the main living room with one shoe on, one shoe off, and a piece of toast being held in her mouth. She hobbled over to her purse while she attempted to pry on her other shoe. Once she got her purse over her shoulder, she took the toast from her mouth into her free hand.

"I know, I know. I slept in. But truth be told, it will be a blessing if I was fired; I hate that bloody job so much. Since when did I become a waitress at a pub anyway?"

Hermione chuckled and sat down on the couch. "According to you, since you got yourself fired from your previous job for chewing out the boss."

"He was wrong, I was right, and he knew it," Ginny grumbled as she finally grabbed her apartment keys from the hook over the stove. "Well, see you Hermione, I'll be back at ten tonight unless they have me pull a late shift. You should go out and do something, go see the city again. You shouldn't stay cooped up in here all day," Ginny instructed with a tinge of sadness.

Hermione smiled at her friend's concern. "I will, Gin, I promise."

"Okay." Ginny smiled, but it was quickly replaced by a frown. "I'm off to work. Merlin, why do they need a waitress at a pub at ten in the morning?" Ginny whined as she strode out the door and down the hall to the place were she usually Apparated from.

Hermione laughed softly to herself and gazed out the window of the apartment. She knew that she had promised Ginny that she would go out today, but for now she just enjoyed the quiet and dreaded what was to come later that night. She knew it had to be done, but she would rather not face it at all.

Hermione sighed and hugged her legs. _I hope he still comes tonight._

It was ten to nine in the evening as Harry walked down the dark streets up to the address Hermione had given him. After assuring himself that he had the right place, Harry strode up the steps and took the elevator to the third floor.

Harry sighed as he watched the numbers above the doors flash on and off as each floor passed. Hermione had mentioned that she had a roommate, but Harry assumed that Hermione would be alone tonight.

The thought of Hermione's roommate lingered in Harry's mind once again. When he had asked Hermione who it was, all she had said was an old friend. The only person that Harry could think of that still lived in this area of London and was an old friend of Hermione's was–no, that couldn't be it. Harry quickly dispelled the thought as the elevator doors opened and he stepped out to find the right door.

Once he found it, he knocked, but no one came. He knocked again and the door slowly swung open. Harry cautiously entered the room and closed the door behind him. He looked around the humble apartment, looking for any sign that would tell him who else lived here.

As he was about to call out Hermione's name, a phone started ringing. Harry was startled by the noise. He had assumed that whomever Hermione was staying with was a wizard. He never expected to see a Muggle device such as a phone in a wizard or witch's apartment. 

The phone continued to ring, but Harry was leery of picking it up. Soon the ringing stopped and an answering machine turned on. Harry immediately froze up when he heard the familiar voice.

"Okay, is this thing working? Oh! Damn! Hi, you've reached Ginny Weasley. If you're calling from work, leave a message or find me later, but no guarantees that I'll get back to you. Thanks! Okay, so now I press…ah–"

Harry stood in shock. He had not heard that voice for three years. Ever since the end of the battle, Harry had somewhat stopped contact with most of his fellow peers. It wasn't that he was cold or anything, he was just in too much shock and remorse to face the congratulating and admiration of his friends and peers.

Harry mentally slapped himself. Leaving Ginny was the hardest thing he had ever done. When he had first left her after sixth year, it had taken no more than three months for him to come back, crawling on his knees for her forgiveness. She had, of course, welcomed him back with open arms, but she paid a price for his love. Voldemort had indeed used her. He had taken Ginny from Harry to lure him right where Voldemort wanted him. Throughout the battle, half of his attention was on Voldemort, while the other half was on Ginny and her well being.

Once he had made sure that she was all right and well, he had decided that he would leave Ginny alone and never bother her again, especially after all he had put her through. But even so, there was a part of him, deep down, that knew he needed Ginny, and that he should find her and never let her go. For the past three years, Harry had tried to use routine and familiarity as a way of coping, but the need never went away.

Hearing Ginny's voice now on that answering machine brought back the need with more force than ever. He needed her, he knew it, and now that he had found her, he would never let her go. 

Harry laughed to himself. It's funny how one voice can put every unknown piece into place. He had never imagined that every question and every uncertainty in his life could be decided in one single moment.

Harry was suddenly dragged out of his thoughts when he heard a soft sniffle from down the hall. Harry mentally slapped himself for forgetting why he was here in the first place. 

"Hermione? Is that you?" Harry called out.

"I'm over here." Harry followed the faint voice down the hall, where he saw Hermione sitting, cross-legged on the floor with a tattered book in her lap and tears falling down her cheeks.

Harry couldn't help but feel Hermione's pain. She had been his best friend for so many years that seeing her so torn apart was heartbreaking.

Harry had known that Hermione was ripped to shreds when Ron passed away. He had tried to console her when she cried over his bedside at St. Mungo's, but somehow nothing he could say seemed to be good enough, and he didn't think anything ever would be.

Harry walked up to Hermione and lowered himself to the ground beside her, wrapping an arm around her quivering shoulders. When Hermione had asked him this morning to be with her as she went through her old memories, Harry had almost pleaded with her to not remember them at all. He knew that it would only deepen her pain before it got any better. However, Harry had caught himself. He knew this was something Hermione had to do to move on. She couldn't continue with her future if she could not accept her past.

Hermione flipped another page of the old scrapbook and choked as she saw the large, moving photograph of her and Ron dancing for the camera. They were not at all good, in fact they were quite clumsy, but they looked so happy all the same. 

Hermione delicately touched the photo with her fingers. "I always wondered what it would be like if he were still here," she said quietly, not expecting a reply.

Harry's heart plunged. He knew exactly what it would have been like. After Ron had died, Hermione took no time in leaving for Ireland. Harry always assumed that the many friends and family offering their condolences was just too much for her to take. Because Hermione had left so soon, it was Harry who had ended up speaking to the Healer who had cared for Ron. After the Healer had given his utmost apologies, he had handed Harry a small brown bag, explaining that it was the only thing that they had found among Ron's possessions.

Harry numbly reached his hand into his pocket and enclosed his fingers around the small, elegant ring. Ever since he had received it from the Healer, he had held on to it in hopes that Hermione would one day return. Now that she was here, Harry wondered if it was too soon, if the wound was still too fresh.

For hours Harry and Hermione sorted through the many pages of the scrapbook, watching both the good and the bad flash before their eyes. Once they had finally reached the last page, Hermione sighed and gingerly closed the book, still stroking its cover on her lap.

"Where did you get this?" Harry asked. He was surprised he hadn't asked earlier. It was doubtful that Hermione had been holding on to it all this time.

"It was mine," she replied softly. "Before I left, I mailed it to Ginny, asking her to keep it safe. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold on to it myself. I was too afraid that I would do something I would later regret."

Harry nodded and looked at Hermione's features. She looked tired and worn. Her eyes were glazed and her head was hung low, almost touching her chest. Even her hair looked tired and limp. 

Harry knew that now was the best time for him to leave. She needed to be alone, and to rest.

"Are you going to be all right on your own?" Harry asked, looking Hermione straight in the eye as to make sure that her answer was truthful.

Hermione smiled and gave Harry's hand one last squeeze. "Yes. I think the silence is suiting for now."

Harry gave a limp smile and slowly brought himself up off the ground.

"Don't be a stranger."

Hermione nodded weakly, but Harry knew she would keep her promise.

As Harry was about to leave the apartment, he once again remembered the ring in his pocket. He brought it out and held it in his hand, deliberating. _Ron would've wanted her to have it._

Harry walked over to the small kitchen table and gently placed the ring where he knew Hermione would find it. He knew Hermione would know what it was.

With one last glance at the small ring, Harry left the apartment and walked down the hall to the stairs with his head down.

As he walked he suddenly bumped into something hard. He turned around to apologize, but stood still and silent when he saw the woman in front of him. Her hair was a bright red and her face was smooth and angelic.

"Harry," she asked tentatively, as though afraid that her mind was playing tricks. 

Hearing her voice made Harry's entire body suddenly fill with warmth. All those years of emptiness and cold washed away without a second's notice. This was it. The demons that had guarded his life for so long were finally being satiated. His life was complete.

"Ginny."

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